


Want You Above Me

by CultOfAdoration



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Boot Worship, Dry Humping, Grinding, M/M, No degradation, Praise Kink, SPOILERS FOR UP TO EPISODE 57, awkwardly navigating kink and sexual tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 04:06:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18490987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CultOfAdoration/pseuds/CultOfAdoration
Summary: Constructive comments are welcome since I've never written for CR before and I'm not too confident in my characterization. lmk if you notice any weird grammatical/spelling issues etc etc. Thanks for reading and thanks to that particular scene for enabling me :^)))))





	Want You Above Me

When Fjord finally finds him, he’s sitting with his back to the wall in a small veranda outside the inn. Frumpkin purrs happily in Caleb’s lap as he thumbs through yet another thick tome, the both of them enjoying the sunlight and light breeze. A welcome break from the typical grey overcast. 

“Caleb,” He starts, wincing when the man in question jumps. “A word, if you don’t mind?” 

He doesn’t put away his book, but he does shift toward him, eyeing him warily. 

“I just wanted to apologize for my behavior before, toward both you and Beauregard.” Fjord clears his throat just to make up for the silence received. “Jester and I got carried away, you know, trying to sell the whole– It wasn’t right, is what I’m saying. I’m sorry.” 

Caleb finally looks up at him, albeit from the corner of his eye. 

“Oh, well, I– I understand.” he says haltingly, Frumpkin pushing his head into his palm, as if sensing his discomfort. He absently plays with the page of his book, halfway between turning it when Fjord first caught his attention. “It worked out in the end.” 

Fjord leans back against the wall, not quite pleased with the talk, but folding his arms and sighing at the scenery anyway. There's a silence that he probably finds comfortable, but Caleb can only feel his heart rate quickening with every passing second. He opens his mouth a few times to say something more, but the other man doesn’t seem to take notice. Finally, on his third attempt, he manages to force out some sound to go with his attempts. 

“I can't say that I, ah… Well. It wasn’t so bad.” 

It's so quiet and hurried that it might as well have been the breeze. Fjord isn't quite sure he said anything at all. He chances a glance down at Caleb, who is now idly folding and unfolding the corner of the page, the flush across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose rapidly approaching the same shade as his hair and beard. 

“Is that so?” Fjord says, voice rumbling low in his chest. 

He’d be a liar if he said similar scenarios hadn’t crossed his mind once or twice before. A product of hearing secondhand accounts of Jester’s “romance” novels and Madam Lavorre’s line of work, no doubt. How do you think he  _ got _ the idea in the first place? Just... never like that, never with Caleb.

But now that he’d really  _ seen _ Caleb on his knees beneath him, noticed the flinch and hidden smile when Fjord actually took the time to admire the handiwork of the dirty rag… Well.

He’s just saying, it might be nice, to have someone following his orders for once. Not only that implicit level of trust between the two parties but the obedience, the vulnerability. It could be nice. Sweet, even. 

Fjord jolts when Frumpkin hops out of Caleb’s lap at the sudden commotion of the approaching rest of their party members. Jester shouts something neither of them catch, stumbling on both her words and the cat in her excitement. 

“Come on you guys, we’re not gonna share if you don’t help out!” 

Fjord doesn’t have time to ask before he’s being herded back into the inn. He thinks it might have something to do with all the experimenting Caduceus has been doing during mealtime lately, if the collection of strange plants bundled under his arm and poking out of his pack are any indication. He turns to Caleb, fully intent on breaking free and continuing the conversation only to see Nott (or is it Veth?) fretting over Caleb’s flushed and clammy skin, Yeza looking on at her warmly. Jester tugs insistently at his arm.

“Caleb, one more thing!” 

Trying to catch his eye, Fjord can tell Caleb’s looking just over his shoulder instead of directly at his face. 

“I’d like to continue this conversation later, if you’d feel comfortable with that.” 

The wizard stammers out a quick “ _ ja, okay _ ” before following Nott and Yeza inside, Frumpkin now resting easily against the back of his neck, purring away as Caleb scritches behind his ear.

Dinner goes about as well as it could have gone. No one was poisoned, scalded, stabbed, flayed, or filleted, and – Fjord finds this part out later – the inn owners were only lightly bullied by Beau into allowing free usage of the kitchen during the remainder of their stay. Jester’s insistence that they were VIP and friends with the queen herself certainly didn’t hurt either. 

During their meal and all throughout their post-meal conversation, Fjord occasionally feels the pricklings of eyes on the side of his face. Fjord leans in close, listening intently to Yasha’s quiet explanation of the strange flora and fauna they’d seen on the trek to the inn, stubbornly resisting the temptation to meet Caleb’s gaze. He isn’t entirely sure if he can handle the implications hanging heavily in the air, not with everyone else around at least. 

It’s been a good hour, maybe an hour and a half, when Caleb stands, clearing his throat and pocketing the book he was absently flipping through. “I think I’m going to go to bed. I’m sure you’d like to stay up a little longer?” Nott looks up from her cup, blinking owlishly at him through a curtain of thick steam. Caduceus has been trying to ease her urge for the flask with spiced teas as of late. He’s not sure how well it’s working, but she’s looking better, happier, now that her husband is seated beside her. 

“That’s okay, Caleb. We still have quite a bit of catching up to do,” she smiles, nudging her shoulder against Yeza’s. 

Beau smacks her palms on the table excitedly, silverware jumping in place. 

“Yeah, hey, tell him about the time we got sucked into the dragon portal!”

Yeza startles, stammering out a quiet "Excuse me, the _what,_ " his gaze flickering between Beau and his wife.

Caleb’s face softens out of its perpetual pained, kicked puppy expression and pats Nott on the hair before disappearing up the stairs. Unsurprisingly, Fjord finds himself missing the other’s presence, not contributing much to the conversation unless asked directly. Still, it’s nice to see everyone in such high spirits without the looming threat of death or becoming political prisoners of war. A dull hum rings in Fjord’s left ear, making him twitch minutely before a familiar voice fades in, sounding distant, yet right in his ear.

“Third door on your left. If you still wanted to talk.”

He waits for a few moments to be sure that the Message is over. 

Right. Great. 

He lingers for a bit longer before the nerves become almost too much to bear and excuses himself to bed as well. Doing his best not to dash up the stairs and down the hall, he takes several deep breaths as he comes to stand before the door. Faint lamplight flickers from the gap beneath. One more deep breath, and he’s pushing the door open. Caleb is seated on the bed, staring at his hands in his lap. 

“Well, I’m guessing we have quite a bit to talk about.”

Fjord isn't quite sure he fully understands the breadth of what either of them intend to get out of their little arrangement. All he knows is that sweat is beginning to bead up by his hairline on the back of his neck in what he can only assume is the same nervous kind of excitement already roiling in his belly. Caleb fumbles through his words, eventually landing on his intended point. 

“It… feels nice, to be good. Useful.” 

His voice is muffled by the hands now covering his face, shrinking into the multiple layers of bulky clothing he somehow still has on despite the firewarmth of the inn. 

“So you enjoyed it?” Fjord asks. “Not necessarily the tone, but. Feeling useful? ...Being  _ good _ ?” 

Caleb nods. “Ja.” The word comes out shakily, much breathier than he intended. It sends a chill down Fjord’s spine. 

Fjord gives him a small, reassuring smile, uneven tusks poking over his lip, a large heavy hand planted on the junction of Caleb's neck and shoulder. He hopes to the Gods that his mounting anxiety doesn’t show through. When Caleb leans into the touch, he gently applies pressure and strokes over what little skin he can in the most affirming gesture that he can muster.

“Caleb,” the wizard looks up at him, “Is that what you want?” 

He shudders at the light touch, warmth seeping through his clothes from Fjord’s heavy hand. 

“Can you show me?”

This time, Caleb gasps. Shakily, he nods, glancing to the desk chair, already slightly pulled out from Caleb’s studies the previous night. Fjord gets himself situated in the chair, trying to make himself seem as comfortable as possible, muttering reassurances that  _ it’s okay, Caleb, you’re fine, you can do however as much or little as you’d like to _ , the wizard wringing his hands and flushing furiously all the while. Fjord’s stream of nervous rambling is abruptly cut off when Caleb speaks up again. 

“ _ Fjord. _ I’ve– I’ve thought a lot about this. I want to,” he swallows, “Gods, I want to. If you’ll let me.”

With that, Caleb grabs a rag from his pack and sinks to his knees from the edge of the bed, slowly and gracelessly making his way to rest in front of the nearly hyperventilating warlock. He pats his thigh, pointedly keeping eye contact. A sluggish smile tugs at Fjord’s lips, unable to help admiring the flushed wizard kneeling dutifully front of him. With one boot kicked up onto his thigh, Caleb takes a deep, steadying breath and gets to work. It’s slower, more methodical than the first time around now that they have the time (and the privacy), scrubbing away what is mostly just dust from the long walk over. At Fjord’s quiet hum of approval, Caleb wraps a gentle hand around his ankle, working his foot into a less awkward angle to work from. It’s mere coincidence that that angle happens to be closer to his groin than originally intended. 

Whether it’s from nerves or the dull beginnings of arousal thrumming through his body, he’s unsure, but Caleb is already breathing in unsteady little huffs under Fjord’s watchful gaze. They're not five minutes in before Caleb is discreetly rolling his hips up against the sole. Fjord says nothing, not wanting to call attention to it lest he stop, drumming his fingers against the desk. It’s more to fill the silence than anything, just give his hand something to do, but if Caleb wants to interpret that as a little bit of authoritative scrutiny, then so be it. 

“You’re actually pretty good at this, you know that?” Fjord rumbles, petting gently over Caleb’s hair with his other hand, taking note of the way the man leans slightly into the touch. “Such a good job.” 

“Danke,” Caleb says, allowing himself a small, pleased smile.  _ Interesting. _ They fall into an easy silence for a few moments until his smile vanishes in favor of a furrowed brow. A particularly large cluster of scuffs near the instep adamantly refuses to be buffed away with only the pressure of a dry rag. ~~(Not even able to properly shine a boot, you pathetic piece of–)~~ He huffs through his nose, trying not to let the creeping disappointment linger for too long. Caleb, ever pragmatic, immediately begins wracking his brain for solutions. Using his waterskin is the most reasonable conclusion, but...

“You’re doing fine,” comes Fjord’s easy response, but Caleb shakes his head, the boot thudding dully against the floorboards. 

Fjord sucks a sharp breath in through his teeth when Caleb stops muttering quietly to himself and shuffles about a foot away, immediately assuming he’d overstepped with the talking, or maybe the touching, or– 

“Would you, ah– would you mind if I tried something?”

Caleb looks up to him, expression searching and, for once, unguarded. Fjord shakes his head. 

“Not at all.”

His eyes widen ever so slightly when Caleb drops forward so his hands are braced on the rough wooden floor, looking down at his boots. Any words Fjord may have had die in his throat when Caleb bows forward to tongue gingerly at the constellation of scuff marks, managing only a strange choking sound. The visual is nothing compared to the soft, breathy noise he makes when he licks a long stripe up the front of the ankle, no doubt spurred on by Fjord’s reaction. 

The texture of the leather pulls slightly at his tongue as he drags it along the top with a few kitten licks over the worn leather, cheek coming to rest on the ground as he works his way down the toe, all the while still looking up at Fjord as best he can considering the angle. 

“Oh my God,” Fjord chuckles, drawling and deep, sending shivers down Caleb’s spine. He leans forward in his seat to rest an elbow on his knee. 

The curve of his spine, visible even through the bulky, shapeless coat, makes Fjord more than a little hot under the collar. Kind of makes him want to haul Caleb up by the scarf and shove him back onto the bed, mapping out every soft expanse of skin hidden away with his fingertips. 

“Well. Don’t you look pretty?” The words come naturally, whispered low, reverent, into the still air. “Make sure you do a good job down there, alright?” 

He regrets not removing some of his armor before sitting down, sweat beginning to bead on his brow, but he makes note of it for next time. And there  _ will  _ be a next time. Hopefully.

Caleb nods, using the point of his tongue to run along where the thick sole meets the leather side panel, a soft moan escaping from low in his throat. 

“You listen so well, Caleb, do you know that?”

“I want to be good,” he swallows, “gods, I want to be good.”

Caleb moans in earnest, repositioning himself to lick up the other side of the boot, his thighs spreading wider, chest nearly to the floor at this point. This was something he had never considered, never pictured himself doing, but the moment those words left Fjord’s mouth back in the palace, once he got over the hot surge of outrage… he had to admit it was nice to make himself useful again. He sucks a quick spitslick kiss against the leather at the memory, Fjord groaning appreciatively at the gesture.

Fjord scrubs a hand over his mouth, licking at the salt of sweat collecting in the stubble on his upper lip when Caleb sits up, panting. He leans forward and cards his fingers through the mussed hair on either side of Caleb’s head to meet his eyes, discomfort evident in the slight furrow of his brow. 

“Uh. Hey. How ya feeling?”

Caleb looks down and away, head tilting slightly in Fjord’s gentle grasp. 

“Hey, look at me. I don't want you feeling obligated to do anything. Just because I–”

“Fjord, really.” Caleb pulls away with the barest hint of a shy smile and raises a hand to his scarf. He seems to deliberate on it for a moment before tearing at it, leaving it in a heap beside him and moves on to shrug off his coat. 

“Oh. I see,” Fjord says dumbly, grateful he hasn’t overstepped his limits – however vague they may be, still feeling a little guilty nonetheless. They really should have a long talk about this later. 

Caleb shuffles impatiently on his knees, clearing his throat. 

“Is that… is that to your liking, Fjord?” 

Kicking the now slightly damp leather boot out, making a show of examining it, rolling his ankle to turn it this way and that, he hums.

“Damn near see my reflection. Good boy,” he murmurs. It’s an exaggeration, he knows, slight as it is because Caleb is nothing if not meticulous. Warmth spreads through his chest at the praise regardless, making his throat inexplicably tighten and heart pound.

“Thank you,” he says in what barely registers as a whisper.

Silently giving his own thanks to the front panel of his armor for shielding what would be a painfully obvious bulge in his pants, Fjord finally brings his foot down to rest. He crosses his opposite leg over at the knee, methodically tensing his thighs to try to find some relief from the mounting pressure. 

Before he can dip down again, Fjord stops him with a stern “ah, ah,” and gestures to the long since discarded rag. 

“Make it a little easier on you,” he says with a bit of a nod. This time Caleb’s deep pink blush reaches all the way to the tips of his ears.

He slowly, methodically, scrubs away dirt, dust, bits of rock and sand, even some dried plant matter trapped in the treads underneath. Chancing a quick peek up at Fjord, he hurriedly averts his eyes when he catches Fjord’s gaze. There’s no put-upon look of disdain like he had been expecting, but fond admiration, and that knocks the wind out of Caleb harder than any vitriol or contempt could ever dream. 

Despite his mouth having long gone dry at the extra attention, he swallows and dips back down for another swipe of his tongue along the panel of closures running up the sides of Fjord’s boot. 

He gulps again, both trying to swallow away the taste and gather more spit in his mouth before he runs the tip of his tongue up and over the small bump of his ankle beneath the leather.

When he leaves another wet little kiss on the the other side of his ankle, Fjord hums to himself once again, a rich, bassy note from deep in his chest. Caleb sits up for a much needed breath, lips reddened and wet, coppery hair sticking slightly to his forehead and side of his face with moisture.

Dipping back down, Caleb licks a long, exaggerated stripe across the instep, tonguing the panel seam when a sudden groan makes its way out from Fjord’s throat. Caleb sits back a final time and pushes his sweat dampened hair from his eyes, pupils blown wide and skin a deep, ruddy pink.

“Gorgeous.” Fjord rests his cheek on his knuckles, smile lax as he gazes fondly down at Caleb. “I knew you would do me proud.”

He bites the inside of his cheek to stifle a smile, despite the simple fact that Fjord has known him for far too long now to still be fooled by that old trick. 

“I might be able to take care of that for you if you’d like,” Fjord mutters, jerking his head down to gesture to Caleb’s lap. Caleb nods and begins to clamber up, clumsy on sore legs, intent on righting himself only for Fjord to reach out to steady him with a large hand around his wrist. Their fingers interlace when Fjord slides his hand down to Caleb’s, pulling him in to straddle his lap.

“You did such a good job, I can tell you worked real hard, just let me take care of you now okay?” He slips a questioning hand between their bodies, using only the pad of his thumb to stroke along the hard length in Caleb's trousers.

“Tell me what you are Caleb, can you do that for me?” Fjord asks firmly.

All he gets is a whine, Caleb leaning back with his hands braced on Fjord’s knees, face turned down questioningly to the hand. Fjord traces his thumbnail on the bulge, just enough for him to feel it but not uncomfortably so.

“ _ Caleb _ ,” comes the warning, Fjord surprising even himself with the authority behind it, his own voice wavering with arousal. “I know you can answer me. You’re so smart, think you can tell me?” 

Groaning, Caleb rocks a little in Fjord’s grasp, only for Fjord to pull his hand away with a raised eyebrow. 

“I’m good, ah, gods, I’m good! Fjord, bitte,” he chokes out, grinding down to meet the minute rocks of Fjord’s hips, skin burning where the other hand rests on his hip. If Fjord thought Caleb’s blush couldn’t get any deeper, he’s quickly proven wrong. A bead of sweat slowly rolls down the side of his neck, disappearing beneath his collar. 

“See?” he hisses, cupping him through his trousers properly now, grinding in with the heel of his palm and using his fingers to massage the length of it as best he can. “I knew you could figure that one out. Easy.” Another groan gets stifled by Caleb biting his lower lip, ducking his head to hide his face behind a curtain of hair. 

“Come on, you’re being rewarded. Don’t be shy about it.”

There’s no sense in drawing it out, but neither of them have any mind to undress more than they already have. Seemingly spurred on by Fjord’s stern encouragement, Caleb ruts into the hand and takes it, moaning and panting freely now. The angle of his hand is awkward, already cramping at the wrist, but Fjord doesn’t want to risk pulling away for any longer than necessary. 

Hips snapping forward one final time, Caleb stills, eyes squeezed shut, his mouth falling open, as he spills into his clothes against Fjord’s hand. Shivering in the blissful aftermath as Fjord grips both of his hips now, grinding him harder in his lap. In his daze, Caleb ruts back as best he can manage until he too stills with a long, drawn out groan of his own. 

Fjord quickly snaps from his daze when he feels Caleb shaking in his lap. He drags his pack over from where it’s slumped in the corner, twisting awkwardly at the waist in his efforts not to just dump Caleb onto the floor. Uncorking the water skin, he passes it to Caleb without a word, watching his Adam’s apple bob with each gulp until he’s sated. The shaking has long since subsided before Fjord even thinks to let go of the smaller man’s hips. 

“Alright?”  

All he gets in exchange is an exhausted wheeze and a lanky, sweaty wizard slumping forward against his shoulder with a long, strained noise.

“That’s good,” Fjord laughs. “Breathe for me, Caleb,” he murmurs, awkwardly petting over Caleb’s hair, the way he noticed he liked it before, and it seems to be enough. 

The moment passes before Caleb remembers himself and stiff-leggedly climbs off of Fjord’s lap.

He winces, muttering something about cleaning up and whether their clothes will have time to dry by morning and Fjord can’t help but laugh at him, even through his own awkward, sticky discomfort. 

They fumble through cleanup, Fjord running fingers through Caleb’s tangled hair in an attempt to neaten it up a bit before realizing he isn’t doing much beside petting him again. After much reassuring that he’s okay,  _ more than okay, _ just needs some rest, Fjord reluctantly leaves with a promise of a very long, much needed talk when he’s feeling up to par. He heads to the shared room where he’s sure Caduceus is already asleep, not wanting to stay the night for fear of having to deal with whatever the hell that entails. Not this time, at least.

He creeps inside, slowly closing the door behind him, sitting on his bed to gingerly unlace his newly shined boots. His heart swells with pride that he doesn't quite know what to do with – that’s an issue for future Fjord to work out. For now, he just needs to get to bed and save the processing for later. It’ll be easier to deal with in the morning, he’s sure. 

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive comments are welcome since I've never written for CR before and I'm not too confident in my characterization. lmk if you notice any weird grammatical/spelling issues etc etc. Thanks for reading and thanks to that particular scene for enabling me :^)))))


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